Christmas, 1944
by Giada Luna
Summary: Not all of the War Efforts were 'Over There.' Tenten comes home froma long shift at the factory to an empty home, Bing crooning on the radio, and dreams of a Christmas with him back home. Oneshot. Pure Christmas fluff.


_I'm kind of in love with the idea of Tenten as Rosie the Riveter._

_Just some holiday fluff for your enjoyment._

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**Christmas, 1944**

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She was tired and hot and sweaty and dirty from working. She closed and locked the door behind her, shrugged out of her heavy winter coat and yanked off her boots. She worked shifts back to back to back, filling in while others spent time with their families. She didn't mind. She didn't have anything to come home too, really. It wasn't as if the war took time off for the holidays, so neither did she.

In fact, had the factory not closed that afternoon, she would still be there. As it was, she'd be back on the floor first thing on the morning of December 26th. She supposed that it would be good for all of the workers to have more than 24 hours away.

All of them but her.

She was dreading spending the remainder of her Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day away from the sanctuary of work.

"Oh well," she sighed, rolling her neck side to side. "It can't be helped."

She stretched her arms over her head and felt the tightness of hours of work coiled into her muscles grudgingly begin to unwind. She let her arms fall loosely to her sides, her exhale loud in the stillness of her small home. Suddenly, the quiet was too much for her; too empty. She padded quickly to the radio and flicked it on, the sounds of 'White Christmas' filling the space. She visibly relaxed, not at the song itself, but at the presence of sound.

After spending all day at the factory, where there was a constant hum of machinery and a background of other women talking, the silence was unnerving.

She returned her keys to their home on the peg near the door, and headed back to her bedroom, pulling at the scarf around her hair. She dropped the bright red cloth into her laundry basket, and it was quickly followed by her heavy socks, work-clothes, and undergarments. She crossed to her vanity and pulled the pins out of her two buns, tossing them in a small container as she went. She ran her fingers through her long tumble of brown hair before brushing it quickly.

Her movements were just as they were at the factory. Measured. Concise. Efficient. Quick. Automated.

She didn't really listen to the radio; it was just something to fill the silence.

She didn't used to mind the quiet. Not when he had been here.

His strong, silent, serious presence was a counter to her own lighthearted one, but he always filled the silence just by being there.

She scrubbed away the honest dirt of a hard day's work, and allowed her mind to empty as she washed her hair. She had gotten good at burying her worries and fears and insecurities and hurts. She had a job to do as much as he did. Her work at the factory was all for the war effort, and it was how she could help.

She finished and toweled off, loosely pinning her hair up to keep it out of the way until it dried. She dressed in her favorite pajamas. The long flowing pants and matching top were well worn and comfortable, and the pale blue robe she put on top of them had been one of his gifts to her. She went to the icebox and opened it before deciding she wasn't very hungry. She put the kettle on, made a hot cup of tea, and went to sit in her chair.

"Should probably be cocoa," she said absently, as she sipped at the steaming mug. She listened to the radio – it was another one of those Christmas programs.

She listened to Dinah Shore and Bing Crosby and Bob Hope and Judy Garland.

She looked at the small tree sitting in the corner of the room, its roots in burlap in the bucket. She couldn't bring herself to cut down a live tree. No. She'd plant this one just like she had planted the others while he was gone, and keep the hope that this was the last one she'd have to plant without him.

The lights were low. It wasn't that late, really, even if it was dark out, but she was glad to be in her pajamas and in the not-quite-quiet. The first few strains of that new hit song filled the room.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas…" sang Judy, and her warm, rich voice filled the small room. How a new song could feel nostalgic, she wasn't really sure, but that is how it felt to her. The song promised better times with those we loved. She thought about Ino and her mother – the day the drone of the motorcycle heralded the delivery of the telegram from the war office telling Mrs. Yamanaka that Major Yamanaka had fallen in battle, as well as his longtime friend and fellow soldier, Major Nara.

Everyone lived in dread of the whine of the small, unassuming vehicle. At the buzz of the motorcycle, every curtain would part and someone inside would peer out and pray the boy didn't come to their house. With the winter and the heavy snows, it was too hard for the boys to get through the town. There was a military base not far from where they were, and a few of the instructors had taken it upon themselves to bring the news to the locals, if and when it was needed. They all lived lives lived peeking through curtains, glad of a friend, hopeful for a return, and terrified of a soldier or a military vehicle.

So it is no wonder that she almost dropped her tea when there was a knock at the door. How she didn't get it all over herself she never knew, but she managed to put the mug down on the coffee table before it clattered to the floor. She stared at the door and swallowed hard, making her way to it carefully. She could just see through a crack in the curtains.

Her heart stopped.

On the street.

A military car.

Her heart pounded in her ears and she felt her world still to nothing.

The knock came again.

She took a deep breath and stood tall.

She promised him.

She _promised_.

She promised she would be strong.

She put a hand on the door, and slowly turned the deadbolt and undid the chain. She opened the door, and stared at the broad and decorated chest with the nametag "Maj. Gai."

She forced herself to look up at the dark, eyes and the intense gaze there.

"Mrs. Hyūga," he said formally. "I am sorry to disturb you, but the War Office sent me."

"I…I see, Major," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, and not at all her own. "Would you like to come in?"

"I am afraid I cannot stay, ma'am," he shook his head which she now noted had the shiniest bowl cut she had ever seen. Somewhere behind him a car door slammed, but she paid it no mind. "I simply wanted to make sure I brought you the news about your husband."

She gripped the doorknob so tightly, her knuckles were bright white. She dug the nails of her other hand into her palm as she willed herself to be calm.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, her large hazel eyes filled with a banked emotion.

The crunch of snow under footfall punctuated the silence between them, and she absently wondered if her neighbor had just gotten home.

"Your husband was most youthful in the field," he said solemnly. "He was an intelligent, capable, and dedicated soldier. If it hadn't been for him, his entire unit might have been wiped out."

She didn't ask what he meant by youthful.

She did note the use of past tense.

"His soldiers are forever in his debt. My own son was in his unit," he continued. "And therefore, I am also in his – and your – debt." He bowed to her, and she felt the pressure of tears in her throat. But when she glanced over him, she realized someone else was there. Someone was making their way up the three small steps of her porch to come to her door.

Someone in uniform.

Major Gai stepped to the side and the second soldier came forward, leaning heavily on a cane.

It took a full minute for him to cross to her, and for her to gather the courage to face another soldier, and for the realization to transfer from the visual message her eyes transmitted to her absolutely skeptical mind.

"Y…You're…" she stammered.

Tender fingers reached out and cupped her cheek, brushing a thumb across her lips in an achingly and oh-so-familiar gesture.

She stared at him, and flicked a glance to Major Gai, concerned that she was seeing ghosts. His bright smile encouraged her and she reached a tentative hand toward the decorated chest with the name tag 'Hyūga.'

"Neji?" she whispered, fingertips trailing over him in a butterfly-light caress, scared to dispel what she was all too certain was just another dream. "Is it really you?"

He opened his arms to her, and that was all she needed to know. He pulled her tightly to him, and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her still-damp hair, inhaling deeply. Major Gai gave a curt nod to a third soldier who quickly stepped past the couple and placed a box on the kitchen counter before stepping back out, saluting both Neji and Major Gai, and going back to the car.

"I heard that you had taken multiple shifts to allow your fellow workers to be with family," the Major said to her. "I am sure that you haven't had time to make a dinner – please accept that," he nodded to the box on the counter, "as our thank you for your efforts in the war."

"Thank you, Major," Neji saluted

"Thank you, Captain," the Major saluted in turn. He turned sharply and strode back to the waiting car, and Neji deftly maneuvered both he and his wife inside.

She stared up at him as she heard the lock tumble and the chain slide into place, still unconvinced that this was not just another very real, very vivid dream.

"Thank goodness he's gone," Neji breathed, and crushed her against him, capturing her lips in a fierce, hungry, achingly loving kiss.

A giggle slipped past her lips and she had to ask, "What in the world did he mean by 'youthful?'"

"Damned if I know," he muttered, expertly plunging his hand into her hair and freeing it of her pins. It cascaded down her back into thick, still-damp waves of rich brown that he wrapped in his fingers while his using his other hand to brush the backs of his knuckles over her cheek. He hauled her to him, and held her tightly, pressing his forehead against hers.

"I've missed you, Tenten" he said tenderly, as if he still hadn't registered she was really there and in his arms. "God, you don't know how I've missed you."

"I can take a guess," she offered, her voice thick with too many emotions to identify much less name. She took his face in her hands and rememorized him. She took in his paler than usual complexion, remembered the cane with a jolt, and was suddenly all practical concern. "We should get you some dinner and then rest," she urged him. "What happened to your leg?"

"Later," he said dismissively. In an instant he scooped her up, and she gasped.

"Your leg – what about - ?"

He silenced her with another kiss. "I'll tell you later," he promised, his voice even more warm and beautiful than she remembered. "Right now," he murmured, "I have some urgent business to catch up on with my wife."

With that, he walked with a determined if not hiccupping gait to the bedroom, leaving the mellow rich voice of Bing to warm the empty air with the lyric that had been his mantra for the last three months.

But he didn't need to repeat it to himself anymore.

He was home for Christmas.

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**-FIN-**

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_Thanks for reading, friends. May whatever holiday you celebrate be joyous and bright, and your New Year nothing short of amazing._

_With love,_

_\- Giada_


End file.
